


Bump in the Road (Part Seven of "Peeping Through the Closet Door")

by OpenPage



Series: Peeping Through the Closet Door [7]
Category: 21 Jump Street (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-07 09:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12838494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpenPage/pseuds/OpenPage
Summary: Is Tom and Dennis’ relationship over before it’s even begun?





	1. A Patch of Gray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HouVanLezen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouVanLezen/gifts), [Ute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ute/gifts).



> I apologise for neglecting this series for so long. A big thank you to **HouVanLezen** for giving me a nudge :D
> 
> In peace,  
>  OpenPage x
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/35583085310/in/album-72157683689305643/)
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own 21 Jump Street or any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.**
> 
> **No copyright infringement is intended.**
> 
> **Based on the TV series 21 Jump Street.**

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/38666245601/in/album-72157683689305643/)

Left alone in the untidy bedroom, Tom wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. His lover had told him to get out, but he didn’t want to leave without having the chance to adequately explain himself. Hearing Booker professing his love had caused him to panic, and he’d muttered the first words that had popped into his head. But as soon as the faltering sentence had left his lips, he had immediately regretted his thoughtless response. Not only had he surprised the dark-haired officer by not acknowledging the intimate attestation with a grand gesture of his own, he had humiliated and hurt him too. The words _‘I love you’_ were three of the most sacred words in the English language, and those who uttered them usually did so with confidence because they assumed the feeling was reciprocated. The last thing they expected was the recipient to dismiss the sacrosanct declaration with a boorish, _‘Um, okay.’_ It was sacrilege, a travesty of the most delicate of human emotions. And not only had he stomped on Booker’s feelings in spectacular fashion, he’d done it right after the most skilled and titillating blowjob of his life. 

Talk about timing.

A loud slam yanked Tom’s mind back to the present and turning around, he stared at the closed door. Seconds later, he heard the shower turn on, followed by the sound of water hitting the tiled bathroom wall. The steady thrum echoed throughout the small apartment, his lover’s ritualistic cleansing taking on a symbolic meaning in Tom’s mind. Booker was purging himself of his scent, and by washing the aroma of sex from his body, he was also removing him from his life.

Unnerved by his thoughts, Tom padded across the room, his silhouette following him across the cream-colored wall. Opening the door, he stared out into the empty living area. A cool breeze wafted through the open window, the flurry of air chilling his bare flesh. He shivered, a feeling of vulnerability settling over him, and casting his eyes downward, he stared at his flaccid penis. He could still feel the ghostly tingle of Booker’s lips wrapped around him, the dark-haired officer’s hot, talented mouth edging him closer toward orgasm with each suck, lick and oral caress. A wave of embarrassment washed over him. He was still having trouble coming to terms with the knowledge he’d willingly permitted another man to orally stimulate his penis. A handjob was one thing, but the intimacy of fallacio wasn’t just a whole different ballpark... it was off the freaking map.

Suddenly feeling exposed, Tom turned around and stared at the rumpled bed. Goosebumps prickled his skin. He’d ruined one of the most significant moments of his life, and he wished it had ended differently. But what that actually meant, he wasn’t sure. He thought he’d come to terms with being in a homosexual relationship, but once again, the seed of doubt had sprouted, leaving him feeling isolated and confused. And while he knew he owed his friend an apology, he wondered if he’d actually feel relieved if it were rejected. Then he could put it all behind him and return to his life, relatively unscathed.

Relatively. 

A weighty sigh exhaled from between the young officer's lips. Whatever happened, the first step was speaking to Booker, and deciding he would feel more comfortable confronting him clothed rather than buck naked, he picked up his boxers and started to dress.

**

Booker stood under the therapeutic spray of water, hot tears burning his eyes. He’d given his heart to Tom, only to have it trampled, kicked, and torn from his chest by two small yet highly significant words. The chilly response, _‘Um, okay,’_ continued to echo inside his head long after the universe had swallowed the words into its void, and no matter how hard he tried to block out the sound, he couldn’t ignore its meaning. The evasive reply spoke volumes. Tom didn’t love him, and the sooner he came to terms with it, the easier his life would be.

Except it wouldn’t.

An emotional lump rose in the dark-haired officer’s throat, and swallowing it down, he screwed his eyes closed, trapping his tears behind his lids. Having taken the risk to pursue Tom romantically, he now found himself in a difficult situation. Believing he had finally found _the one,_ he’d laid his heart on the table early in the relationship, a move he now regretted. He’d backed himself into a corner, and the thought of ever having to work with Tom again sent his mind into a spin. Love wasn’t a static emotion you could turn on and off with the flick of a switch. It was an all-consuming, all-encompassing, living, breathing, entity that ruled not only the heart, but also the mind, body, and spirit. Life without Hanson seemed an impossible ask, but deep down, Booker knew he had no choice but to walk away. He’d carried a torch for the beautiful officer for so long, he couldn’t go back to viewing him as nothing more than a coworker, and that meant transferring to another department. It wasn’t an ideal solution, he hated the thought of starting over again with new people, but what choice did he have? If he wanted to move forward with his life, he needed to leave his past behind, and as much as it pained him to admit it, Tom was now his past.

Turning off the faucets, the dark-haired officer stepped out of the shower cubicle. Water pooled around his feet, and realizing he’d forgotten to put down the bathmat, he cursed loudly. Any other day, he would have viewed it as a small inconvenience. But with waves of anger undulating through him in an emotional tsunami, his mind blew the situation out of all proportion, and grabbing the mat from the towel railing, he hurled it to the floor. “FUCKING _SHIIIT!”_

The expletive resonated around the small bathroom, the sound of his voice ringing loudly in his ears. Close to tears, he shut his eyes and attempted to calm his breathing. As his frustration slowly ebbed away, he straightened out the mat, and grabbing a towel from the rail, he proceeded to dry himself. 

When he was done, he tossed the wet towel to the floor, and wrapping a clean towel around his waist, he stared at his reflection in the steamy mirror. His hazy image stared back at him, his dark eyes lacking their usual spirited appeal. His lifeless exterior masked the internal pain tormenting his soul, a pain so debilitating, his heart physically hurt. But he was determined to battle through, to rebuild his battered confidence, and not let the experience taint his outlook on love. He was, and always would be, a romantic, and he would continue to search for that one special person he could spend the rest of his life with.

A sudden weariness washed over him, and opening the bathroom door, he walked out into the living room. Out of the gloom, a figure emerged and stopping midstep, his body stiffened. “I thought I told you to leave.”

Heat flared in Tom’s cheeks, but he stood his ground. “I know, but I wanted to explain why I—”

“Explain?” Booker snapped, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “What’s to explain? A week ago, you fucking asked me if I loved you! Remember? And I said I did, and you seemed cool with that. But when I say it _after_ sex, you have nothing to say except _okay?_ What the fuck is that all about? Are you screwing with me, Hanson? Huh? Is this a game to you? Because if this is just some belated college-type experimentation and you’re using me for your own sexual gratification, I’m not... fucking... INTERESTED!”

The heat of Booker's accusatory glare had Tom shifting uncomfortably, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he lowered his eyes to the floor. “Everything makes sense for a split second,” he explained in a low trembling voice, “like I'm seeing things clearly for the first time. And then all the religious and societal conditioning comes flooding back, bringing with it all the insecurities and doubts that make me question our relationship. What if we’d never had drinks on my birthday? Would you have still kissed me? And if you did, would we have still ended up in bed together? It’s like this whole thing between you and me centers on that one moment in time. I didn’t even know I had feelings for you, for Christ’s sake. How fucked up is that? How could I not have known, Dennis? _HOW?”_

Deflated, Booker’s shoulders slumped. “I dunno, Tommy. Maybe you were right all along, maybe I took advantage of you and—”

“You didn’t,” Tom reassured quietly. “I wanted it, I just didn’t _know_ I wanted it. Which is weird, right?”

“Wanted it or _want_ it?” Booker breathed, the sultry pitch of his voice hanging heavy in the air.

Unsure of what to say, Tom chewed anxiously on his lower lip. But he knew he couldn’t avoid the question forever, and taking a deep breath, he did his best to answer as truthfully as possible. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Dennis. I really don’t know. When I came here tonight, I thought I knew _exactly_ what I wanted… No, don’t look at me like that. You’ve gotta believe me, I don’t regret _anything_ we did, but… do I want to continue? I can’t answer that, not at the moment. I need time.”

The muscles in Booker’s jaw flexed. “Time?” he queried through gritted teeth. “How much time? An hour? A day? A month? A year? How do you expect me to keep working with you when—” 

His voice hitched in his throat and turning away, he addressed the floor. “I think it would be best if you left.”

“Maybe you're right,” Tom whispered. “Maybe we should—” 

“Just go.”

With a nod, Tom walked across the room and opened the door. Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, he turned and offered his friend a sad smile. “I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Booker murmured, and before his emotions could betray him, he closed the door, leaving Tom alone to ponder where it all went wrong.

**

**Monday morning**

The sounds of the city drifted in through Tom’s open bedroom window, the aural haze disturbing his dream. The young officer’s ears tuned into the early morning traffic, the loud rev of a vehicle’s engine robbing him of his last remnants of sleep. Opening his eyes, he rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, a weighty sigh expelling from between his lips. He had no idea what the day would bring, but he had a feeling it would be peppered with awkward moments and cold shoulders. His fight with Booker had left him hanging in limbo, which didn’t fit comfortably with his well-ordered life. It was the ambiguity of the situation that was driving him crazy. Were he and Booker still a couple, and if so, what exactly did that mean? He’d told the dark-haired officer he needed time, but if he were honest with himself, he didn’t understand his own reasoning. Did he want time spent together or time spent apart? And while there was no doubt in his mind he had feelings for Booker, he wasn’t sure if _feelings_ were a strong enough reason to change the whole structure of his life. He’d subconsciously balked at the idea of saying _‘I love you too’_ for a reason, and it was this uncertainty that bothered him. Was Booker right and he was just curious about homosexual sex or were his affections legitimate? It was a conundrum he wasn’t sure he could figure out on his own, but was it fair to lead Booker on when all his promises hung on a wing and a prayer? He had no idea, but in his heart, he knew he needed to work it out because it wasn’t right to keep stringing his friend along.

Friend? The word continued to reverberate in Tom’s mind for several moments before a knowing smile slowly spread across his face. Maybe life wasn’t as complicated as he thought and maybe, just maybe, he had the solution to their problem.

Climbing out of bed, he walked over to the window and stared down at the steady stream of traffic. Little by little, the burden of his guilt lifted from his shoulders and turning away, he headed toward the bathroom.


	2. A Certain Slant of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Previously: **Monday morning**_
> 
> _The sounds of the city drifted in through Tom’s open bedroom window, the aural haze disturbing his dream. The young officer’s ears tuned into the early morning traffic, the loud rev of a vehicle’s engine robbing him of his last remnants of sleep. Opening his eyes, he rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, a weighty sigh expelling from between his lips. He had no idea what the day would bring, but he had a feeling it would be peppered with awkward moments and cold shoulders. His fight with Booker had left him hanging in limbo, which didn’t fit comfortably with his well-ordered life. It was the ambiguity of the situation that was driving him crazy. Were he and Booker still a couple, and if so, what exactly did that mean? He’d told the dark-haired officer he needed time, but if he were honest with himself, he didn’t understand his own reasoning. Did he want time spent together or time spent apart? And while there was no doubt in his mind he had feelings for Booker, he wasn’t sure if _feelings_ were a strong enough reason to change the whole structure of his life. He’d subconsciously balked at the idea of saying _‘I love you too’_ for a reason, and it was this uncertainty that bothered him. Was Booker right and he was just curious about homosexual sex or were his affections legitimate? It was a conundrum he wasn’t sure he could figure out on his own, but was it fair to lead Booker on when all his promises hung on a wing and a prayer? He had no idea, but in his heart, he knew he needed to work it out because it wasn’t right to keep stringing his friend along._
> 
> _Friend? The word continued to reverberate in Tom’s mind for several moments before a knowing smile slowly spread across his face. Maybe life wasn’t as complicated as he thought and maybe, just maybe, he had the solution to their problem._
> 
> _Climbing out of bed, he walked over to the window and stared down at the steady stream of traffic. Little by little, the burden of his guilt lifted from his shoulders and turning away, he headed toward the bathroom._

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156893755@N07/38844394731/in/album-72157683689305643/)

A light rain pitter-pattered against the windshield of Tom’s Mustang. Every few minutes, a burst of sunlight exploded through the clouds, creating gasoline rainbows in the opalescent puddles pitting the asphalt. Stifling a yawn, the young officer stared into the distance, his concentration waning with each passing mile. Maybe it was the hypnotic swish of the windshield wipers, or maybe, it was the knowledge he was about to face Booker for the first time since their disastrous date. Either way, his focus wasn’t on the road, and he failed to notice the red light. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white sedan heading toward him, but it was too late for him to react. The vehicle crashed into his door, the impact spinning the car around and slamming it into a light post. With no seat belt to protect him, his body jerked forward, the force smashing his temple against the windshield. A bolt of pain exploded inside his head, and he slumped against the steering wheel, the loud blare of the horn following him into oblivion.

**

Pulling into the chapel’s parking lot, the first thing Booker noticed was the absence of Tom’s Mustang. A frown of annoyance tightened his lips into a firm line. Nothing pissed him off more than a coward, and if Tom thought he could make the last few weeks magically disappear just by avoiding him, then he was sadly mistaken. Despite his reputation, Dennis Booker was a man of principle, and he expected others to follow the same moral path. Tom needed to man up and accept his part in their amorous play, or he would spend the rest of his life, running from the truth.

Annoyed he had allowed thoughts of Tom to blacken his mood, Booker climbed out of his car and slammed the door closed with more force than usual. He’d had plenty of time to reevaluate his options since he’d kicked Tom out of his apartment, and he’d come to an important decision. He wasn’t going to give up a job he loved just because Hanson couldn’t accept his homosexual leanings. Yes, he physically ached for the touch of the man he’d loved since first laying eyes on him, but that didn’t mean he was willing to forego his own happiness. Every day, he experienced an adrenaline rush, and every day, he thanked whichever god was listening for giving him the opportunity to work in such a physically and mentally challenging job. It was his life, and he’d be damned if he’d give it up and go back to the boredom of Internal Affairs just because his fling with Tom hadn’t worked out. And while he had no doubt in his mind their working relationship would become awkward, he was stubborn enough to grit his teeth and bear it. And if Tom didn’t like it, then as far as he was concerned, the door could slam his _ex-_ lover in the ass on the way out.

Channeling his inner James Dean, he swaggered across the parking lot and climbed the snaking metal staircase. When he walked into the main hub, the silence of the empty room had the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. In his experience, the chapel was a veritable hive of activity, and as his eyes scanned the uninhabited space, he wondered what had happened to cause a mass exodus. Unsettled, he turned back toward the door. But just as he was about to leave, the sound of voices reached his ears, and turning back around, he watched in silence as Judy, Harry, and Doug exited Fuller’s office, their expressions solemn. 

Spotting the dark-haired officer, Fuller’s frown deepened. “You’re late,” he growled. “If you can’t get here on time, we’re going to have a real problem. Got it?”

Surprised by the level of anger in his captain’s voice, Booker quickly apologized. “Sorry, Coach.”

When Fuller’s shoulders slumped forward, a prickle of fear ran down the dark-haired officer’s spine. “What’s going on?”

A teary-eyed Judy walked over and placed a hand on his arm. “We’re heading over to the hospital. Tom’s been in an accident.”

For a fraction of a second, Booker wondered what Judy was talking about. But then, as his friend’s words took on a tangible meaning, the bottom fell out of his world. It fell slowly, like he was in an underwater dream, trapped inside a bubble of his own regret. If Tom were seriously injured, or worse, dead, he would never get the chance to heal the gaping wound that had torn them apart. 

The room closed in on him, sucking the air from his lungs. But outwardly, although the color had drained from his face, he managed to maintain his calm. “Is he hurt?”

“Like you’d care,” Penhall snapped, and pushing past the dark-haired officer, he headed toward the door.

Judy’s fingers squeezed the chilled flesh of Booker’s arm. “Don’t take any notice of him. He’s upset. You know how close he is to Tom.”

Booker swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. “I know. But he didn’t answer my question, is Tom—”

“Are you coming, Jude?” Ioki called out from across the room.

“I’ve got to go,” Judy replied in answer to Booker’s question, and turning away, she ran after Harry.

“Captain?” Booker tried again, the fast and heavy beat of his heart making it difficult for him to breathe. “Is Tom—”

“Stay here, Booker,” Fuller instructed. “I’ll call you when I have some news.”

“But Coach...” Booker started to protest, his voice rising several octaves. But his plea fell on deaf ears, and in an instant, he found himself alone with only his panicked mind for company.

**

Penhall paced the floor of the waiting room, the sound of his heavy footfalls peppered with frustrated huffs. Judy and Harry sat quietly, their muscles stiff, their faces unsmiling. Two excruciatingly long hours had passed since Fuller had received the call, and they still had no news on Tom’s condition. The lack of information weighed heavily on all their spirits, and for the second time in less than twenty minutes, Fuller approached the reception area and spoke to the charge nurse. 

When their captain walked back toward them, Judy nudged Harry. “I think he knows something.”

The two officers stood up and joined Penhall at their superior’s side. “He’s okay,” Fuller advised with a relieved sigh. “He has a concussion and a few fractured ribs, so they’re keeping him in for observation. He’ll be on desk duty for a while, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Can I see him?”

Penhall’s request brought an understanding smile to Fuller’s lips. “I’ve already arranged it. He’s in room 301. But you can only stay a minute. He needs his rest.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Penhall replied, his trademark crooked grin tilting his lips.

“Give him our love!” Judy called out as Doug disappeared down the long corridor.

Harry sat down on one of the chairs, the muscles in his face finally relaxing. “Well, that’s a relief. All this time I was thinking the worst.”

Judy joined her friend, and relaxing back against the hard plastic, she exhaled a weighty sigh. “Me too. It was the not knowing that was killing me.”

“Speaking of which, I’d better phone Booker,” Fuller muttered, and turning away, he went in search of a phone.

“Do you think he’ll care?” Harry asked Judy. “It’s not like he and Hanson are close.”

“I don’t know,” Judy replied in a thoughtful voice. “He seemed pretty upset when Fuller told him. He kept asking if Tom was okay.”

“Did he? I didn’t notice.”

 _“But I did,”_ Judy thought to herself. She’d seen the panic in Booker’s eyes, and she wondered what had changed to make the dark-haired officer suddenly so concerned for Tom’s welfare.

**

Tom shifted his weight ever so slightly, his aching body searching for a comfortable position. The thin hospital mattress provided little padding, and his fractured ribs throbbed painfully. Then there was the jackhammer drilling inside his head, which made focusing his eyes difficult. He felt lousy, and all he wanted to do was go home, so he could sleep in his own bed and nurse his wounds in private. But because he’d received a concussion, his doctor wanted to monitor him for a twenty-four-hour period. It was a frustrating inconvenience. When choosing a place for his convalescence, his comfortable apartment—complete with cable television—far outranked a noisy hospital. But he knew there was a reason he was fixating on where he would rather spend his recovery. If he relaxed his mind and accepted his fate without complaint, he was frightened he’d have to admit to himself how close he’d come to dying. In the blink of an inattentive eye, the lights had almost dimmed forever, and it was the slap in the face reality check he needed. And while he didn’t want to acknowledge the close call, thereby addressing his own mortality, he _did_ want to reassess his life. He’d spent so much time worrying about what others thought, he wasn’t sure he understood what constituted _real_ happiness. Yes, he loved his job, and yes, he loved his friends, but on a personal level, he’d never found the one person he thought he could spend the rest of his life with. Except, maybe he had. Maybe Booker really _was_ the one, and he’d never know because he was too damned stubborn and repressed to give their relationship a chance.

With the thumping in his head steadily intensifying with each passing minute, Tom closed his eyes and attempted to sort through his emotions—while steadfastly refusing to reflect on the accident. But he found it difficult to concentrate, and his mind flitted from one random thought to another without ever forming a constructive conclusion. The exertion added another level of pain to his pounding headache, and with a hefty sigh, he focused on not throwing up.

“Hey, man. Are you awake?”

At the sound of Penhall’s worried voice, Tom opened his eyes. “Hey, Doug, c’mon in.” 

Penhall stepped into the room, the concern etched on his face clouding his normal cheerful countenance. “How’re you doing, buddy?”

Tom managed a strained smile. “Pretty good, considering. How’s the other driver? Are they okay?”

Pulling up a chair, Doug sat down. “He’s fine, a bit shook up, but otherwise okay. I can’t say the same thing about the Mustang though. Harry spoke to the officer on the scene, and I hate to tell you this, Hanson, but it’s totaled.”

A physical pain stabbed through Tom’s heart. His beloved vehicle was his one connection to his deceased father, and he treasured the memories it invoked. But through his own recklessness, that association was now gone, and his beautiful blue 1968 Mustang was destined for the scrap heap. It was a hard pill to swallow, but he had no one to blame but himself. If he’d paid attention to the road, both he and his car would be in one piece.

It was then another thought crossed Tom’s mind. “Are they going to charge me?” he asked. “I was the one at fault, so—”

“I dunno, Hanson,” Penhall interrupted with a sigh. “Probably. But I don’t care about that. I wanna know how _you_ are. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Tom muttered. “It was a stupid thing to do. I wasn’t concentrating and… it all happened so fast, I don’t really remember anything.”

“But you’re okay?” Doug persisted with a worried frown.

“Yeah,” Tom sighed. “Except… Doug, can I ask you something?”

Penhall leaned forward in his chair, his expression attentive. “Of course, Tommy. What’s on your mind?”

Tom rubbed his fingers over his lips as he carefully chose his words. “What would you do if you discovered something about yourself… something _life-changing?”_

Panic animated Doug’s face, and reaching out a hand, he grabbed hold of Tom’s arm. “Are you sick? Did they find something wrong with you? Oh, God! You’re not dying are—”

“No!” Tom quickly interjected. “I’m fine, Doug, honestly. That’s not what I meant.”

Relief relaxed Penhall’s features, and flopping back into his chair, he clutched a hand to his chest. “Jesus Christ, Hanson. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” Tom muttered again. He really wanted to open up to Doug about his feelings, but he honestly didn’t know where to start. He was terrified of losing his best friend, and so he stayed quiet, his fingers nervously picking at the pilled blanket covering his legs.

An awkward silence hung in the air, the pregnant pause driving a metaphorical wedge between the two friends. Eventually, it was Penhall who spoke. “What’s going on, Tom?”

Sadness softened Tom’s words into a whisper. “I can’t tell you. Not yet. Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I guess I’m not thinking straight.”

Concerned by his friend’s odd behavior, Penhall laid a hand on his shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Blowing out his cheeks, Tom gave a small nod of his head. “Yeah, I know. But until I get it sorted out in _my_ head, I can’t really talk to you about it.”

He paused for a moment, his teeth worrying his lower lip before he spoke again. “There is _something_ you can do for me. But you’ve gotta promise not to ask any questions. Okay?”

Curiosity widened Penhall’s eyes, and his head bobbed up and down in agreement. “Sure, man. Whatever you want.”

Tom nodded toward the metal cabinet next to his bed. “My badge is in that drawer. I want you to take it out and give it to Booker. Ask him to hold on to it, and he can drop it off at my apartment when I get home.”

A myriad of emotions passed over Penhall’s face. Hurt. Surprise. Disbelief. He longed to ask why. Why Booker? But when he saw the genuine distress in Tom’s eyes, he knew he would do anything his friend asked. “Sure, buddy,” he reassured, and taking the badge out of the drawer, he shoved it into his pocket.

“Thanks, Doug,” Tom murmured, and closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to switch off and fall into a restful slumber.


End file.
